And so, under Prisha’s tutelage, ODYSSEUS had become a top-secret CIA project to input false memories into the heads of the American people by grafting suggestive steganographic messages onto innocuous sound waves. What the CIA had needed was a delivery system to carry the ODYSSEUS messages to hundreds of millions of Americans. The introduction of digital personal assistants in 2011 had solved this problem nicely. Siri, Alexa, Google Assistant, and Microsoft’s Cortana were soon answering questions and playing music for happy Americans all across the country. ODYSSEUS would hack these PDA systems, attach their messages, and let the music play.
Alas, ODYSSEUS had taken longer than Prisha had ever thought it would to go operational. The science and technology were constantly evolving, and the operations were maddening. All the big companies had denied the CIA access to their data infrastructures. Patriotic pleas and, later, boatloads of cash had proven unpersuasive. So Prisha had found the best hackers available and set them loose. But Apple, Google, and Microsoft were no mom-and-pop operations, and progress had been slower than anticipated. Nevertheless, progress was being made.
Prisha maintained control of and funding for ODYSSEUS through equal measures of charm, skullduggery, and ruthlessness. The scientists controlled the science, and she controlled the scientists. The few decision-makers Prisha answered to—D/CIA, POTUS—had made the mistake of trusting her without independent verification. No one was auditing her, not in any real sense. Prisha fully exploited this oversight.
“How long, Khabir?” Prisha asked. “Johnson grows more inpatient with every POTUS briefing.”
Ahmad was meticulous in his work. He didn’t like to be pushed, especially by a woman.
“The recent tests have been positive,” Ahmad responded. “But I need more data, particularly on the Apple codec. And also I need—”
“How long?” Prisha said harshly, her eyes sharp.
Ahmad looked to his shoes. “Three to six months. Inshallah.”
“Not a day longer.” Prisha exhaled a protracted breath. “Do you have my stuff?”
Ahmad nodded, then grabbed a box from his bench and handed it to her. She slowly unpacked eyeglasses and a hair clip. She inspected them closely.
“The lenses are clear glass,” Ahmad said. “Wear them tight against the bridge of your nose. The hair clip goes in the center of your head, in back. It will be important that you avoid any fast movements with your head when you are in the Oval Office tomorrow. The clip will not provide accurate acoustic measurements if you do this.”
“I know, Khabir. I’ve done this before.”
“Last time the data was incomplete,” Ahmad said. “We haven’t mapped the entire room yet. I need you to get Udell to give you a tour of his office. And turn your head when he speaks to you so that the clip can modulate his voice signature.”
Prisha saw that Ahmad was clearly happy to be the one now issuing orders. He needed to be put back in his place.
“Got it, Khabir. Anything else?”
Ahmad flinched. His eyes blinked rapidly. Dry saliva was crusted at the corners of his mouth. “One of my best people is acting odd. He may be getting cold feet.”
“Who?”
“Sweeney.”
“What’s the issue?” Prisha asked. “Personal? Financial?”
“I don’t know. He’s just acting a little…suspicious.”
“Okay, I’ll pass it along to Henrik.” Henrik Karlsson was Prisha’s head of security. Prisha clasped her hands together. “You got the thumb drive. I’m gonna go. Don’t stay too late. Be out before daybreak.”
“One more thing,” Ahmad said. He tapped on his laptop, swiped the trackpad, then turned the monitor so Prisha could see it. It was video camera footage of the outside of the basement door. It showed fourteen-year-old Yazid tentatively trying the doorknob. Prisha felt her face flush. She clenched her fists at her sides.
“He’s back,” Ahmad said. “That boy has to be dealt with, or we will have to shut down this operation.”
“I will deal with this,” Prisha said.
“You said that last time, and—”
Prisha’s eyes narrowed. It stopped Ahmad cold.
“I said I will deal with this, and I will. Understood?” Prisha’s voice was icy. “We are not moving operations. We’ve been here for years. We’re safe in this basement. The boy will not be a problem.”
Ahmad bowed his head. “As you wish.”
Prisha took her leave of Ahmad. She went back up the creaking stairs, checked the monitor at the top of the staircase, and, seeing no one, slowly opened the door, stepped through it, then shut and locked it behind her. She crept back through the bodega and then paused at the entrance, checking the front windows and surveying the street. Satisfied, she left the store and swiftly crossed the street, shoulders hunched and head down.
On the opposite sidewalk, she stopped and turned around. She stood next to a street lantern, under the canopy of a large oak tree that shrouded the street in shadow. Prisha’s eyes followed this shadow to the spot above and to the left of the bodega’s door. Yazid’s window was still lit.
Chapter Seven
August 19, 2016
Hospital Cafeteria
Washington, DC
Sarah Reyes strode into the hospital cafeteria in the lobby of GWU Hospital, pale blue eyes scanning the room. She was tall and lean, and although just shy of forty, still had the swimmer’s body that had earned her a four-year scholarship to the University of Maryland. She had sharp Nordic features, and today she wore a smartly cut business suit and expensive heels, with her straw-blonde hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. She spotted the woman she was looking for and made her way across the room.
“Jill?” Sarah asked, extending her hand.
Everett took it and thanked her for coming. Today she wore her powder-blue nurse’s scrubs with her red Crocs. A Styrofoam cup of black coffee sat on the table in front of her.
“I just got your message this morning,” Sarah said. She slid out a chair and sat across the table from Everett. “What’s this about Frank? You said it was urgent.”
“Yes. It’s—”
“Frank Luce, right?” Sarah interrupted. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen or spoken to Frank in five years. No one has.”
“He asked me to call you. He needs your help.”
“He said that?” Sarah said, eyes widening.
“Not his exact words, no,” Everett said. “But he’s in trouble.”
“What is it?”
Everett leaned across the table. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Frank has… leukemia.”
Sarah gasped. The word hung between them.
“ALM. Acute myelogenous leukemia,” Everett said. “It’s an aggressive cancer, but it responds well to chemo and radiation. If we start treatment now, we could catch it in time.”
“Shit,” Sarah whispered.
“Problem is, Frank won’t take treatment. Won’t even talk about it. It’s like he just doesn’t—care.”
The two women sat in silence. Everett fiddled with her cup, picking at small pieces of Styrofoam with her red manicured fingernails.
Sarah shook her head. “Oh, Frank…” She blew out a breath. “What a waste.”
“If you could just talk to him, maybe you can get him to come around,” Everett said. “He’s a little… down on his luck… but I think I can find a treatment center that’ll take him on. Frank being a war hero and all.” She looked down at the tabletop. “I don’t want him to die in the hospital. Or on the street.”
“How do you know Frank?” Sarah asked.
“He was my patient. Came into the ER almost two weeks ago. Got beat up real bad. His heart stopped a couple times. Almost died.”
“Two weeks, huh?” Sarah asked. “I’ve known Frank since my sophomore year in high school.” Frank had been the strongest man she had ever known. Her thoughts wandered to the beaten man, dying, alone in a hospital bed. His strong heart surrendering. She swallowed hard an
d tried to suppress her rising emotion.
“That’s why he’ll listen to you, Sarah,” Everett said. She sipped her vending machine coffee and made a face.
Sarah cocked her head. “What is Frank to you, if you don’t mind me asking?” She studied Everett. “Are you two dating?”
“No!” Everett said a beat too quickly. “He’s just my patient… Well, he’s become my friend. I come from a military family and I want to help him. That’s it.” Everett’s face was flushed. She bit her bottom lip.
It was clear to Sarah that Frank was more than a patient or friend to Everett. She knew that look. She had worn it herself a long time ago.
Sarah had met Frank at Montgomery Blair High School; he was a junior, she a year behind him. Frank had relocated from Boston to Silver Spring, Maryland, three years prior. He had initially struggled in the new city, but he’d found his feet in high school. He was a popular but introverted kid, played varsity football and ran track. Sarah had grown up a tomboy, a competitive swimmer and basketball player. She had grown into her beauty in high school, but unlike every boy she met, seemed unimpressed by it.
Sarah and Frank had dated all through high school and continued their relationship long-distance when Frank left for his plebe year at West Point. But one night, youth and impetuousness had won out, and Sarah had fallen for the charms of another boy. Afterwards, however, she’d been unable live with the guilt and had broken up with Frank when he returned that summer after his first year at the Point. It had broken Frank’s heart, and she knew it. Sarah had never told him why she’d ended their relationship. That first summer had been rough, but they’d eventually reestablished their friendship. Sarah had always known Frank was the one, and thought one day they would reunite. But life happened, and they never had.
“I haven’t heard from Frank in years,” Sarah said. “Just two scribbled notes and some hang-up calls in the middle of the night. I don’t know anything about him after he left my sister.”
“Your sister?” Everett asked, voice rising.
“Yeah. Frank and my younger sister Nicole were married.”
Everett raised her eyebrows. It was clear this was news to her. So Sarah filled her in.
Frank had returned to the Beltway after he resigned from the army. Sarah was in a committed relationship at the time and had convinced him to ask Nicole out on a date. Nicole had “withdrawn” from Florida State a year prior and was drifting in her life as well. They had begun dating, and to Sarah’s shock and dismay, married a year later. Sarah hid her heartbreak and did her best to be a supportive sister and friend. It was hard. And despite knowing better, she had rebounded into the arms of Victor Reyes, metropolitan police officer and strutting Cuban peacock. This was the loveless marriage that Sarah was now trapped in.
“So, yes,” Sarah said in a steady voice. “Frank and my sister were married for three years. Before he vanished. He didn’t mention that?”
Everett shook her head. “No. He didn’t tell me much about himself. Most of what I know is from his army records.”
Frank’s and Sarah’s lives had diverged widely since Frank’s army days. Frank had been a changed man after the army. Quiet and sullen, as if all joy had leached out of him. He went to work for the CIA as an analyst, a job he didn’t particularly care for but was happy to have. Frank never told Sarah the circumstances behind the abrupt end of his once promising army career, but she had heard enough from her sister to know it had ended badly.
Sarah, on the other hand, was ascendant. She’d earned a master’s degree in Cyber/Information Security at George Washington University, then was hired on as a consultant at the high-powered firm of White Rogers Young. While Frank was wandering the country penniless, Sarah had worked eighty-hour weeks and steadily advanced to a mid-six-figure position as executive vice president. Sarah’s work hours and Victor’s repeated infidelities effectively ended their relationship. Sarah had only recently accepted the failure and was currently planning to leave the marriage.
“This leukemia, ALM—how bad is it?” Sarah asked.
“It’s bad. Frank needs to start treatment right away.”
Sarah rubbed her eyes, exhaled loudly.
“What are his… chances? I mean, what are we looking at here?”
“ALM has a five-year survival rate of twenty-seven percent,” Everett said. “Much worse if he doesn’t get treatment.”
Sarah’s stomach knotted. She bit down hard, her lips puckering into a thin line. She fixed her eyes on the ceiling until she caught her breath. She looked back to Everett, whose eyes were tearing up. Sarah now fought back her own tears.
“So…” Sarah’s voice cracked. “What you’re telling me is that Frank’s dying.”
Everett reached across the table and grasped Sarah’s hands. “What I’m telling you is that he doesn’t have to die. Not if you talk him into treatment. I think you’re the only one who can, Sarah. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”
Sarah searched Everett’s face. Everett held her gaze and smiled.
“Yes?” Everett asked.
Sarah gave Everett a tight smile and nodded.
Everett beamed. She again grasped Sarah’s hands. “Thank you—thank you!”
“So, what do I do? How do we do… this?”
“Frank’s up in the ward right now. Can you see him now?”
Sarah grimaced.
“It’ll be okay,” Everett said.
Sarah pushed a few strands of blonde hair behind her ears and rose from her seat. Everett stood as well.
“All right,” Sarah said. “Where is he?”
“I’ll take you to him,” Everett said.
Sarah followed Everett out of the cafeteria, dumping her Styrofoam cup of cold coffee in the trash as she went. They walked to the nearest elevator bank. Everett pushed the button a few times. They waited in silence. Everett turned to face Sarah.
“Just one thing,” Everett said. “Frank is—um… Well…” She paused, searching for the correct words. “He… he may not look quite like the man you once knew.”
Chapter Eight
August 19, 2016
Hospital Patient Room
Washington, DC
I’ll never forget it. You could say it was the first day of the rest of my life.
Maurice was talking at me about something. I was looking at his face but not listening. He finally stopped talking, but only because he got up to go to the bathroom. I watch him shuffle across the floor, his ass hanging out of his hospital johnny. It was hard to hide the truth in a hospital. Death, illness, and close confinement had a way of bringing out the core truth in people. The fact that this place was having no effect on my core was beginning to trouble me just a bit. An itch I couldn’t quite scratch.
I felt something, a presence, that made me turn towards the door. And just like that, there she was. A tremor ran through my body, actually shook me in my bed. I remember the squeak the plastic bedrails made when the bed jumped. I just stared in silence at her, mouth agape. Five years now felt like fifty.
Sarah froze in the doorway at the sight of me. Her hand went to her mouth. Her eyes said what her mouth could not. Her beautiful blue eyes, the same eyes I had fallen into long ago, now filled with tears at the sight of me. I choked and swallowed. It was the first whiff of shame I’d felt in a long time.
I sat up in my bed like a schoolboy, adjusting my johnny and pushing my long hair out of my face. It was no use. I was a mess. I didn’t want her to see me like this. More shame. I cursed myself for giving Everett her phone number.
Sarah approached cautiously, as a bomb tech approaches an unknown ordnance. I tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. She stood next to me now, tears rolling down her ashen face. I grabbed a fistful of sheet and swallowed hard.
Sarah wiped her tears away with a swipe of both hands. A smile appeared like a sunrise. Not a joyous, just-won-the-lottery smile, but something deeper. Compassion? Acceptance? Pity? Hard to tell. She reached out and h
eld my hand. Her skin was smooth and warm. I squeezed back.
“Oh, Frank,” Sarah finally said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
I said nothing, as there was nothing I really could say to her. I explored her face. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful it made me ache.
Sarah pulled up one of Maurice’s visitor chairs and sat down, putting us more or less at eye level. I watched her face cloud up again.
“You left me… us,” she said through tears. “I didn’t know where you were. Whether you were alive or dead.”
“I know,” was all I could mumble in reply. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I really am.”
She squeezed my hand again. “I don’t know if sorry’s gonna cover this, Frank.” Sarah blew out a breath. Her words washed over me like a mountain stream, fresh and icy cold.
“I know.”
“Interesting look you got going here, Frank,” Sarah said, motioning to my unkept hair and long beard. “In a couple months, throw some powder in there, you can be a mall Santa.” She chuckled.
“Yeah, sure,” I responded. “Kids and dogs love me. You know that.”
We both shared a long sigh.
Maurice returned to his bed. Sarah stood and offered back the chair. “Sorry.”
His eyes ran her up and down. Maurice smiled wide. The man wasn’t dead yet. He introduced himself, and Sarah did the same. Maurice then started talking as only he could. Not now, Maurice. I needed to put a stop to this.
“How about we take a walk?” I said to Sarah.
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